DESCEND from Heaven, Immortal Dove,
   Stoop down and take us on Thy wings,
And mount and bear us far above
    The reach of these inferior things, . . .
2  Up far beyond this lower sky,
    Up where eternal ages roll,
Where solid pleasures never die,
    And fruits immortal feast the soul!
3  O for a sight, a moving sight,
    Of our Almighty Father’s throne;
Where sits our Saviour crowned with light,
    Clothed in a body like our own.
4  Adoring saints around Him stand,
    And thrones and powers before Him fall;
The God shines glorious through the Man,
    And sheds His glory on them all.
5  When shall the day, dear Lord, appear,
    That I shall mount to dwell above,
And stand amazed among them there,
    And view Thy face, and sing Thy love?
Isaac Watts, 1674-1748